"I tried to stop them, but it was too late..."
It was Jim. In his front yard. With a cocktail. As usual.
I was expecting a check so I had gone out to the mailbox, but it was 106 and the mailbox was too hot to touch. Maybe the reason there are so many house fires here isn't meth labs after all. Maybe it's just the mail spontaneously bursting into flames.
But back to Jim... what was he babbling about?
He pointed to our plum tree, the only fruit tree that's in the front yard and not protected by the fence.
It had been stripped bare.
"Bunch of neighborhood kids, from down the street. They were there with trash bags stealing all your fruit. I shooed them away but it was too late. Looks like they got just about everything. I told them they were stealing, but they didn't care. Fuckin' kids."
Fuckin' kids is right.
I was so bummed. I was planning on going out to pick plums once the sun went down, but now there was nothing to pick.
Well, kids... payback's a bitch. I'll get them at Halloween. Not with anything traceable, of course.
Actually, I don't blame the kids.
Can you imagine a world where middle school kids, home for summer break, sitting in the air conditioned game room playing Grand Theft Auto, would suddenly decide it would be really fun to slouch down the street in Death Valley heat to steal some fruit? Yeah, neither can I.
I blame the parents. Bunch of white trash Fagins...
"Go steal some fruit or no Helper for you!"
I suppose I should be grateful it was only fruit they stole, although for all I know they're casing the house too. I guess I'll have to rethink our security arrangement. I thought Jim, forever drunk out in the front yard, would act as a deterrent. It looks like that plan is no longer operational.
